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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JAKE

Four days later . . .

I’m already sweating by the time Raf walks into the gym, and it isn’t from my workout. I called to ask if he wanted to meet me to train while he was in Gold Creek. I figure he’s going to want to hit me once I give him the news, and I might as well get a good sparring session out of it.

Raf seems wary as he stalks onto the mats, looking every inch of the dangerous alpha. He’s wearing black athletic pants and a plain gray tee, but even the guy’s T-shirts are designer brands.

Gold Creek Boxing Gym is one of those good old-school gyms. Coach’s prize belts from the eighties line the walls.

There’s a creaky platform in one corner with an actual ring, and heavy bags hang from the ceiling.

A few of the bags are reinforced with tape, and the whole gym reeks of sweat and old leather.

It’s not exactly Raf’s kind of place, but he still seems comfortable here .

“How was the wedding?” he asks, tossing his bag on the floor. He doesn’t say hello or give any other kind of introduction. Raf doesn’t believe in meaningless chitchat, but right now I’d give anything for a little small talk.

“Fine,” I say, watching him carefully as he crouches down and pulls his wraps out of his bag.

“Elena won’t return any of my phone calls,” he grumbles. “I was beginning to worry.”

I fight back the grin that’s tugging at my mouth. No one else in the state of Colorado would dare dodge the calls of a billionaire CEO alpha. Leave it to Rafael’s baby sister to get his undies all in a twist.

There’s a long pause and then he asks, “Something happen?”

I swallow. I’ve never run from a fight in my life, but this may be the closest I’ve come. Telling Raf is the whole reason I asked him to meet me, and suddenly, I don’t have the words.

“Jake . . .” Raf stops rummaging in his bag. He’s gone completely still. “Is there something I should know?”

“Uh . . .”

In three quick strides, Raf is on his feet and across the room. I don’t catch the moment his eyes start to change. Instead, I’m left staring into a pair of golden wolf eyes rimmed with coal-black lines. “What — did you — do ?”

Somewhere deep inside of me, my wolf stirs and snarls. Around Raf, my animal can usually relax, but since I marked Elena as my mate, he’s been on high alert.

“I claimed her.”

Surprise, indignation, and a murderous rage flash through Rafael’s eyes. His neck goes stiff as he processes what I just said, and I know he’s fighting the shift .

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get this worked up about anything in his life — except maybe when his father was murdered. It’s terrifying and a little insulting. “You — what ?” he rasps.

“I claimed her,” I repeat. My heart is punching against my ribs. “Elena is my mate.”

“The fuck she is!” Raf snarls, drawing his right shoulder back as though he’s preparing to deck me.

I lower my chin but hold his gaze. “She’s my fated mate,” I say.

“I didn’t know until the wedding, but she .

. .” I take a deep breath and let it out in a huff.

I feel the need to explain. “She was always mine — even when we were young. I kept my distance all these years, but not anymore. I’m . . . I’m fucking in love with her, man.”

Raf stiffens, and he gets this funny look in his eyes. He isn’t swinging at me yet, which I take as a good sign.

I hit my gloves together to release some of my pent-up energy and take a few pacing steps. I practiced this conversation at least a dozen times on the way over here, but every version I imagined ended with me beaten and bloody.

I don’t care. Raf can be angry if he wants to be, but Elena is my mate, and he’ll have to respect that.

There’s no stronger bond for our kind than that of a mated pair. Not friendship. Not pack bonds. Not even blood.

“I know,” he says softly, unraveling one of his cotton hand wraps and beginning to wrap his knuckles.

I swallow. “You know ?”

Raf lifts an eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot. I see the way you look at her.” His mouth twists into something like a sneer, and for the first time, I think he might actually hit me. “I can scent the way you feel when you two are together.”

And here I thought I’d always managed to keep the stink of my lust from leaching out.

A muscle works in Raf’s jaw, but his movements are controlled as he wraps his hands.

“I thought maybe you just wanted to fuck her. I knew you wouldn’t, but it always bugged me.

Then you showed up at the hospital after her accident, and .

. .” A pained look comes over him. “I knew — knew you loved her, anyway.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Raf doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look murderous, either. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did.” Raf frowns at me in surprise. “Why do you think I always kept you in the loop about what she was up to? I was sort of hoping you’d take the hint and finally make your move.”

I sigh. Figures . Raf is a strategist. A CEO. An alpha. He’s calculating and subtle in a way that I’ve always found annoying as fuck. If that was his version of dropping a hint, I’m sure glad I didn’t wait for his approval to tell Elena how I feel.

“I kept trying to deny it,” I admit.

“Why?”

“ Why ?” I repeat, my voice rising with incredulity. I lift my hands at my sides and then drop them back down. “I was afraid of losing the only family I’ve ever had.”

Raf blinks at me, and a thousand tiny emotions flicker through his eyes before he tamps them down. Most people probably would have missed the subtle change in his expression, but I’ve known Raf since we were kids.

“You could never lose me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re brothers. I might want to kick you in the nuts now and again, but you’re stuck with me.”

My chest squeezes with relief and gratitude, and I have to swallow a few times before I’m able to speak. “I won’t hurt her,” I promise. “I could never hurt her.”

“You’d better not,” he says, finishing wrapping his hands. “Or I really will have to kill you.”

ELENA

The steps leading up to my apartment seem extra-dingy as I lead Jake up to my place. My heart is doing all kinds of crazy gymnastics in my chest. This moment feels significant.

When I first moved to Boston, I was crashing in a house with four other dancers. It was crowded and messy, but I was living my dream.

It wasn’t until I picked up a few part-time teaching jobs at local ballet studios that I was able to afford a place of my own. It’s a studio apartment roughly the size of a shoebox, but I’ve been proud to call it mine.

Until now.

Now my building seems run-down and shabby, and I’m nervous to show Jake the tiny apartment where the two of us will be living together.

Jake says he can get a job in private security anywhere, but my school is here. Apparently, shifters don’t do long-distance relationships when it comes to their mates, which is just fine by me. I don’t think I could stand to be two-thousand miles away from Jake .

“It’s not much,” I warn him, fumbling in my purse for the key. The brass number nine fell off my door long before I moved in, and only the unvarnished outline of the digit signifies which apartment is mine.

“Will you stop?” Jake chuckles. “If it’s good enough for my mate, it’s good enough for me.”

I suck in a breath. It’s been a week since he claimed me, and I still get a little thrill every time he calls me his mate or I catch sight of his mark in the mirror. I’ve wanted Jake since high school — maybe even longer — and part of me can’t believe this is real.

The scent of old building wafts out to greet us as I push the door open. The apartment is dark, but a sliver of light from the street below trickles in from a gap in the curtains.

I flip on a lamp, and my insides squirm.

Every piece of furniture was a Craigslist find, apart from the dresser I rescued from the curb.

There’s a battered laminate table from the eighties with two chairs, a faded green loveseat, and a slightly scratched TV stand.

I don’t actually own a TV yet, but that’s the next thing on my list to purchase.

I do have a free-standing ballet barre against the wall, which is currently acting as a drying rack for my leotards. The apartment didn’t come with a washer and dryer, which means schlepping to the laundry mat every other week and hand-washing in between.

Jake takes his time surveying the apartment, taking in the tiny kitchenette and the art I scrounged from Goodwill.

“Where’s the bed?” he asks, turning to me with a devilish gleam in his eyes. “I was told they do have beds in Boston, which is the only reason I agreed to move here.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I rub the back of my neck. This is the part I’ve been dreading the most .

“Ah.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, stalling. “That’s the benefit of only having three hundred and fifty square feet to work with. Everything has to be super high-tech.”

Jake’s brows crinkle in confusion. “I don’t think they’ve made any major innovations to beds since humans slept on fur hides. A bed is just a horizontal surface for sleeping and fucking.”

“What about the modern innerspring mattress?” I tease. “Or the waterbed? Memory foam?”

“Are you telling me you have a waterbed out on the fire escape?”

“ No ,” I say, a quiver of mirth rattling in my chest. “But sometimes, beds are horizontal, and sometimes . . .” I cross to the little table and scoot it across the floor. I do the same with the two battered chairs, clearing a space in the middle of the apartment.

I open the little double doors that look just like a closet and give the metal handle a hard tug.

Jake watches in astonishment as the old Murphy bed folds out from the wall. The thing is a double — not even a queen. It snaps into place with a lot of squeaking and creaking, and I hurriedly straighten the rumpled covers.

“Sometimes they’re vertical,” I finish.

A broad grin stretches across Jake’s face. “That’s hilarious.” He flops down on the mattress and gives it a bounce. The bed squeaks so loudly it’s comical. “This should be fun.”

I grimace. “It’s a little small.”

“Small is good,” says Jake, pulling me into his lap so that I’m straddling his hips. His hands cup my ass through my jeans, and I feel the hard length of him press against my core.

“You think we can . . . make it work?” I ask, squinting at him through one eye as I cringe. “Because if you’ve changed your mind or want to get a bigger place —”

“Sweetheart, for you, I could make a barstool work.”

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Besides . . .” He glances around my tiny apartment, and his eyes crinkle in a contented smile. “I like your place. Correction: our place.”

Our place.

Just the thought makes my heart squeeze.

Gazing down at the beautiful man beneath me, I can’t quite believe he’s mine. I run a finger down his face, delighting in the contrast between the smooth skin of his cheeks and the faint stubble along his jaw.

Then Jake’s fingers find the back of my neck, and he crushes his mouth to mine. His kiss is hard and demanding and possessive, and yet I feel the tenderness behind it. Jake shifts beneath me, gripping me under the hips, and lays me down on the squishy mattress.

His mouth travels from my lips to my collarbone, not stopping at the neckline of my shirt. As he shifts his weight, the old bed creaks loudly, and I burst into a fit of giggles.

“It’ll work,” Jake murmurs, grinning against my breast. “I just hope our neighbors have earplugs.”